Winds from the East
by clicketykeys
Summary: Freighter pilot Vacy Fiorst is making a simple delivery. But things don't go quite as planned, and it sets off a chain of events that will lead her on the greatest adventure of her life. Ch 7: "Harlequinade" - Vacy doesn't trust easily; she's been let down too often. When Viidu and his team offer to help, though, she starts to wonder if she really wants to be alone. COMPLETE.
1. Intro-Prologue-Chapter 1

**Introduction: The Cast**

_in order of appearance_

* * *

><p><strong>Vacy Fiorst<strong>, "cargo transportation specialist." Fiercely loyal and with a long memory, she carefully projects an aura of easygoing professionalism, desperately hoping her clients and colleagues can't tell she's as green as she literally looks. Her cynical barbs and wry humor protect the passionate heart of a secret dreamer, and nowhere is she happier than on the bridge of the _Wonder_, sailing among the stars.

* * *

><p><strong>Skavak<strong>, the "Jackal of the Stars." Clever, charismatic, and cunning, this veteran spacer is known for his quick wit and a fierce sense of pride. Women love him, and he loves loving them. His silver tongue has gotten him into nearly as many scrapes as it's gotten him out of, but so far, he's managed to come out ahead every time. He's broken more than a few hearts while keeping his own unscathed, but it isn't long before he finds out that Vacy Fiorst isn't like any other woman he's known...

* * *

><p><strong>Corso Riggs<strong>, Farm Boy. Simple and straightforward – what you see is what you get. Despite troubles in his past, he remains generally optimistic and tries to stay true to his principles – though sometimes the Captain makes that a bit difficult. Still, his heart is warm and open, and he's always willing to lend a hand to someone in need.

* * *

><p><strong>Viidu Beretton<strong>, Fine Goods Enthusiast. His boisterous laugh and warm demeanor causes many people to underestimate him, but behind the easy-going charm works the calculating mind of a shrewd businessman. The ongoing conflict between the Republic and the Separatists has resulted in a bureaucratic mess of taxes and embargoes, and it's often difficult just to find items that aren't produced on-planet, but Rendia Freight is known for being able to obtain goods at surprisingly reasonable prices.

* * *

><p><strong>Syreena Sanphroix<strong>, Viidu's girl. Beauty can create as many challenges as opportunities, and no one knows that better than Syreena. Her affair with Viidu is based on practicality rather than passion; she is taken care of in terms of both material comfort and personal safety. Though she tries to be satisfied with this, she finds herself longing for something more.

* * *

><p><strong>Prologue – Flying Solo <strong>

* * *

><p>The small mirialan who sat curled up in the pilot's chair looked even smaller next to the massive control panel that stretched out in front of her. She had just dodged and twirled her way through a blockade and past anti-aircraft fire, landing the starship without so much as a single nick, but for some reason it didn't seem like anything to celebrate.<p>

The truth was, she'd never felt more alone.

Letting out a soft sigh, she reached under the collar of her shirt and pulled out a small pendant that dangled from a thin chain around her neck. She looked at the pendant for a moment, then wrapped her fingers around it and held it tightly.

"Just a few more jobs like this one, Bubba," she whispered. "Then I'll be able to hire somebody to come find you and get you out. Hang in there. Please, please, please don't give up. I'm coming back for you. I promise."

She tucked the locket away and pressed her fingertips to the triangular tattoos that marked her cheekbones. After she'd gotten the _Wonder_ safely out of system that first time, Bryson had insisted she celebrate her accomplishment in the traditional way. A few other tattoos already decorated her olive-green skin, but these were the first that were so prominent. Whenever she was frustrated or discouraged, he would pinch her cheek, right on one of the tats. It had annoyed her to no end, and she'd inevitably rolled her eyes and swatted at his hand. But right now she would have given everything she had for a bit of his overbearing encouragement.

Closing her eyes, she took a deep breath and stood up. "You always believed in me. I won't let you down."

And with that, she pulled her shoulders back, widened her stance, and strode down the ship's corridor to the main airlock.

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 1 – A Simple Business Arrangement<strong>

* * *

><p>As she lowered the landing ramp, she noticed that someone was already waiting for her on the ground. He was human, maybe a little older than herself, and very easy on the eyes. But what immediately grabbed her attention was the vivid tattoo that stretched across the right side of his face. <em>Interesting<em>, Vacy mused to herself._ This one really wants to be remembered._

The metal of the ramp clanked under her boots as she made her way down to the landing pad. Her contact stood there with his arms folded, watching her approach. Vacy straightened a touch further and let her hips swing a little bit more, but kept her expression neutral.

"Can't believe you made it through that separatist shooting gallery, Captain," he said, walking up to her. His gaze swept over the XS freighter. "Your ship isn't even scratched. It takes guts landing in the middle of the battlefield. Nice flying."

Despite her determination to play it cool, Vacy felt herself begin to smile at the words of praise. She recovered herself quickly, though, letting the smile flow into a smirk, then shifted her weight to one foot and arched her back some, lifting her chest. The ruse seemed to work; he glanced at her chest for a moment, and when he looked back up at her without so much as a blush, his eyes were narrowed thoughtfully. "Guess I'm just that good," she replied with an ever-so-casual shrug.

His brows arched. "Is that so?"

Vacy lifted two fingers to her temple in a mock-salute. "I owe it all to my lightning reflexes and crackerjack timing."

That earned her an eyeroll as he turned to head back into the warehouse. "You clearly have a lot of experience getting shot at," he retorted. He headed over toward a large workstation – probably one they used to track inventory. "The name's Skavak. Excuse the rush, but I need to get those blasters out of your cargo hold and get out of here quick. This village used to be safe, but the separatists are taking over. If I were you, I'd haul jets as soon as we're done."

"Suits me just fine." The sooner she got offworld again, the sooner she could head for her next payout… wouldn't bring in quite as much as this one had, but every little bit helped.

Skavak looked up with a frown. "Sounds like the bombing's getting closer. The separatists will be right on top of us at any minute." He plugged a credstick into the terminal, ran a quick process, and then walked back over toward her. "Here's your payment for making this run, Captain. Soon as I have those blasters, you'll be free to fly."

Just then, someone else came running up. Eyes dark with anger, he didn't even glance at Vacy. "Skavak, we got a big problem. Separatists took over the local air defense cannon!"

Shaking his head, Skavak looked at the other man incredulously. "Woah, slow down, Corso. What're you talking about?"

The man he'd called Corso had thick dreadlocks and warm brown skin. His entire body was tense, and he gestured furiously as he spoke. "They deployed some kind of remote control station. Hacked the cannon's targeting computer. Damn separatists just destroyed an incoming Republic transport!"

With a low whistle of dismay, Skavak looked back at Vacy. "That's bad news, Captain. The separatists'll blast you out of the sky if you even think about taking off."

_You've **got** to be kidding me. _"Isn't that why the Republic army is here – to deal with the separatists? They should be able to take care of a bunch of locals."

Corso shook his head slowly. "They've already got their hands full. Separatist rocket launchers just attacked a Republic walker, an' knocked it down hard. They're gonna be dealing with that for awhile… and we ain't got awhile before the seps get through the town and hit this warehouse," he concluded with a grim frown.

"You'll probably have to hit several of those remote stations before they lose control of that cannon," Skavak explained. "We'll get your ship unloaded, so as soon as it's safe, you can get out of here."

Inside, Vacy was seething – saving the day was not remotely covered by her contract _or_ her pay – but she put on a wide smirk, flipped her ponytail and winked. "Bah. Separatists an' cannons? Not a problem. 'Sides, I enjoy a bit of a ruckus now and again."

The darker man took a step toward her, then hesitated. "Good luck. And… stay safe, Captain. Hope we see you again soon."

Her grin broadened – at least she'd been granted a pair of rather good-looking fellows to brighten an otherwise dull situation. This one was kind of sweet, too. "I'll be back before you've had a chance to miss me."

As she left, she saw Skavak heading out toward the landing pad. "Let's move, Corso. We're runnin' out of time."

Taking a breath and checking her blaster, Vacy jogged out of the warehouse and down the path that led to Drelliad Village.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note:<strong> Whew! It's been an interesting few days. School got called because of the weather (hurray winter!) and it's been impossible to get bread and milk. :P

I haven't given up on my other stories, but I've had some reviewers mention that they're not all that familiar with the source material. So I thought I'd put something together that introduced the world and the characters and the basic storyline. I'm really hoping that this story will be accessible to new readers without being dull or repetitive for veterans. Let me know what you think! As always, reviews not only welcomed but encouraged. :)


	2. Aw, Shucks! (I'm Just a Little Gal)

**Chapter 2 – Aw, Shucks; or, I'm Just a Little Gal!**

* * *

><p>By the time she got to the town, the separatists already had a good hold on their position. The Republic troops Corso had mentioned were apparently still dealing with the downed walker, because there was no sign of them. Vacy ducked behind a makeshift barricade as a pair of particularly well-armed grunts jogged past. She peeked out carefully, taking note of the number of forces she'd have to get past, as well as the way they carried themselves.<p>

The holonet newsfeed about Ord Mantell painted the separatist movement as a ragtag militia that stood little chance against the far superior Republic army. But underneath the publicly available information, there were whispers of uncertainty, rumors that there was more behind the uprising than a bunch of unhappy gun-toting hicks. Vacy tended to take a skeptical view of such unfounded speculation, but based on what she was seeing, she began to wonder if the conspiracy theorists didn't have the right of it after all.

Vacy could feel her pulse throbbing through her. She was by no means a weapons expert, but the two-handed rifles the grunts had been lugging around seemed awful fancy compared to the simple pistol she clutched in both of her hands. _Fuck,_ she thought. _Fuck this. Fuck me. Fuck everything. Fuck it all to hell._ She let out a long, slow breath, carefully trying to regain her focus instead of spending more time thinking of additional ways to use a word that Bryson and Asty threw around all the time but fussed at her for even muttering under her breath.

_I am so fucked._

Stars, how she missed them. Sure, they'd been annoyingly overprotective – Bryson especially – but she knew it had been because they worried about her. Then again, if they'd actually taken her on jobs instead of insisting that she stay on the _Wonder_, maybe she would be better able to handle a situation like this one. Speaking of which…

From the edge of the barricade, she could see that it wasn't far to the control center, but there was an awful lot of open space on the way. Plus it looked like each of the remote towers was guarded by two or three separatists, and chances were, at least one of them had a way to call for backup. Once she started moving, she'd have to work quickly, and she wouldn't get a chance to ease up until she was inside the center, where she'd be out of sight of any of their patrols.

Taking a slow breath, she pulled her pistol close and closed her eyes. Her brother's face was there in the darkness, mouth pulled up into the wry half-smirk he so often wore. _Everything's leafy, Little Bit. You can do this. It's just like it's practice, all right?_

Vacy opened her eyes. "I am going to kill them," she whispered under her breath. Her heart was pounding away in her chest. "I am going to kill these people, and that is okay."

There were two guards at the nearest tower. She dropped to a crouch at the edge of the barricade and aimed for the one whose armor looked a bit patchier. _If I can take him out early, that's one less pistol shooting at me while I worry about the other'n._

Three shots squeezed off in rapid succession were enough to take out the first guard – and attract the attention of the second. He shouldered his rifle and aimed carefully. Vacy fired off a couple of quick shots and then ducked back behind the barricade, just before the spot where she'd been crouched exploded in a shower of dust and sparks, sending chunks of duracrete flying in every direction. Before he could recharge his weapon, Vacy stepped out again, took aim, and squeezed the trigger. The shot hit him just above his right eye, and he stumbled forward and fell, his rifle clattering uselessly to the pavement.

She ran forward and knelt beside the control tower. Its power console was at the base. While she thought it wouldn't be too difficult to slice into the console and shut the tower down that way, there was a much quicker method: she pointed her blaster at the console and fired several times. The machine sputtered, thin wisps of smoke trailing from the now-destroyed screen.

Glancing around quickly to make sure no one was running toward her, she headed for the next tower. Vacy purposefully slowed her stride and took smaller steps as she watched another separatist patrol pass by it, exchanging a few brash remarks with the group of guards stationed there. Past the tower and across the street, she could see another barricade, which would provide decent cover for an attack on their position. She gave the group a wide berth as she edged toward it, but a sudden shout told her that it hadn't been enough.

Without so much as a rock to use for cover, Vacy dropped to a knee, muttering some exceptionally unladylike phrases under her breath. Her first shot was another hit, and one of the separatists dropped with a cry, but a moment later she felt the sting of a blaster bolt in her shoulder, and her next shot flew wide, scorching the pavement several feet away. Gritting her teeth, she forced herself to ignore the pain and concentrate on killing the other two men.

She heard the whine of a rifle charge and jumped to her feet, zigzagging away. But out in the open it wasn't difficult for them to keep her in their sights, and she gasped in agony as the rifle blast seared her thigh. Her leg gave out under her, and she tumbled toward the ground, muscles tensing for the impact. Despite the instinct to throw out her hands to catch herself, she remembered to tuck into a roll instead, taking the jolt on her uninjured shoulder.

Bruised and disoriented, Vacy wrenched upright and found herself next to one of the guards. Looking up, her gaze locked with his, and time seemed to freeze. There was a sound like a sneeze, then she heard him draw a breath in surprise as his features relaxed and he crumpled to the ground. Her blaster was warm in her hand, even though she didn't remember taking aim and firing.

The other guard was tugging at the cartridge on his pistol; it must have jammed after he'd shot her. But when he heard his partner collapse, he turned, eyes wide with sudden fear. "No – wait – " he began, but she fired twice, before he could even finish his plea.

The command center looked further away than it ever had. Vacy tried to take slower, deeper breaths, but it still felt like her heart was trying to hammer its way out of her body. _Am I going into shock? Or is that just the adrenaline?_ She stood gingerly, but as soon as she took a step with the leg that had been hit, pain shot through her, and she could see more blood seeping into the charred fabric of her formerly-best pair of trousers. _Wish I could tell if I was dying or if I'm just a damn pansy._

The patrol that had passed by earlier had reached the edge of the town and was doubling back. She knew she couldn't risk taking the time to patch herself up properly. And there was just one more tower that remained between her and the command center. _Then_ _again_, she debated, _my movement is slower and trying to attack that last remote station in this condition is suicidally foolish._

Vacy knew she didn't have much in the way of supplies – one medpack, a stimcell, and a couple of ration bars. The separatists' attack had blown the door to the center clean off, and she could see down the long, empty hallway that led to the interior. If she could just make it that far, she'd have a chance to breathe a bit easier and treat her injuries more thoroughly.

Her fingers trembled a bit as she tore at the flimsiwrap that covered the stimcell. She set her teeth, then jabbed the activator into the meaty part of her thigh, pressing her thumb tightly against the button that released the potpourri of chemicals into her system.

The rush of sensation was dizzying, and she shook her head to clear it. Blinking, she realized she hadn't noticed her vision going hazy, but the sudden sharpness revealed just how bad it had gotten. _Better pay more attention. If I've got to be at point-blank range just to hit what I'm shootin' at, I'm in real trouble._ She pointed the barrel of her blaster at the tower's console and fired several times.

As she jogged over to the barrier she could use as cover for her final attack, she could feel the protests from muscles and tendons in her shoulder and her leg. But thanks to the stim, the pain was distant. Manageable. She crouched down on her good knee, leaning up against a durasteel pipe. There were only two separatists guarding this tower – another tech-and-soldier combo, it looked like. But they hadn't noticed her yet. She aimed carefully for the tech and half-squeezed the trigger to charge up a heavy shot. As she watched him, she could see that he was trying to flirt with the soldier, a burly female who was trying not to smile. _Probably the reason they don't see me. Sorry, fella._

When her partner staggered back and dropped to the ground, the other guard brought up her weapon and fired, but Vacy had already ducked down again, and the shot fizzled uselessly against the metal pipe. She kept up the same strategy as before: pop up, shoot, duck back, breathe. The woman's armor seemed to be a bit more scorched than it had been, and her stance was unsteady. Vacy propped herself up, keeping her weight on her good leg, and aimed carefully, holding the trigger in the half-squeeze that let the pistol charge again.

She saw the soldier's rifle flash, and a moment later, something punched her in the gut just as she pulled the trigger and fired, sending her enemy to the ground. Her chest felt unbearably heavy, and it was getting hard to breathe. As her knees buckled, she felt her eyes stinging at the unfairness of it.

Vacy blinked up at the Ord Mantell sky. Wispy clouds drifted slowly past, and she felt oddly peaceful. _I'm sorry, Bryson_, she thought._ I tried._

And with that, she closed her eyes.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note: <strong>So the chapter title is actually a reference to World of Warcraft. If you play a sorcerer, your first summoned creature is a little imp who does _not_ like to be sent off into combat and throws these adorable wee fits. He says things like "This! is! not! in! my! CONTRACT!" as he goes hopping off to attack whomever you've targeted.

And I just can't seem to resist ending a chapter on a cliffhanger! But have no fear, readers; this is _not_ the end of Vacy's story! (Though I'm sure you already realized that if you've looked at the list of stories on my profile...) Hopefully this was appropriately exciting despite the fact that we know she will be successful; the question is just _how_ she manages to succeed when things look so bleak.

Here's a hint: it just might involve a shout-out to _The Princess Bride._

Combat has always been one of the types of writing that I struggle with the most. While it's become less impossible the more practice I get with it, I still don't find it easy. Figuring out what is unique about each encounter is definitely a challenge, but I feel like that's necessary to keep the story from getting repetitive. So I want to send out a special thanks to my sounding board, Nerica, who kept encouraging me the whole way through! I couldn't have done it without you. :)

And thanks to all of you for reading. Drop me a note to say hi! ^.^


	3. If You Haven't Got Your Health

**Chapter 3 – If You Haven't Got Your Health, You Haven't Got Anything  
><strong>

* * *

><p><em>You're "sorry"? What good is that? I don't want your "sorry"! Maybe you could do something that was actually useful, instead?<em>

Vacy opened her eyes with a start, her brother's voice echoing in her ears. She pushed off the ground with her good arm, wincing when pain stabbed through her abdomen. _Pay attention, dammit! What do we do with an injury that bleeds?_

"Apply… pressure…" Her voice was a hoarse whisper, but she placed her palm against the wound and pressed. Her fingers slid around a bit, and she tried not to think too much about just what she might be holding in place.

_And what is the number one rule for extended fighting?_

Her world had narrowed down to the sound of his voice. "Find… a defensible… location."

_Right! So get off your damn ass. You've got about two seconds before that patrol notices what you did and starts looking for whoever did it. Now get moving!_

Vacy stood carefully. Her vision blurred a bit, but she pressed harder, concentrated on her breathing, and began to move toward the control center. She focused on the doorway ahead of her, though it seemed to be taking much longer than she would have expected to get there. She couldn't tell if it was her sense of distance or time that was distorting – maybe both. It wasn't because she'd stopped moving, was it? No; the pain coursing through every fiber of her body let her know that she was using it in ways it didn't approve of.

Finally she could tell that she was making progress. She had no idea if any of the other guards had taken any notice of her, but she didn't dare look anywhere other than at the doorway that was so close she could've spit through it if she'd been feeling better. Nobody seemed to be shooting at her, though, which she took for a good sign.

As she stepped into the narrow hall that led down into the control center, her legs wobbled. _None of that! _came Bryson's voice again._ You're still visible. Twelve paces ought to do it – good – ten … nine … no, _paces,_ dammit, shuffling doesn't count!_

Vacy counted off each slow, agonizing step, working her way down to zero before she collapsed against the wall, sliding down to the floor with a broken sob. "This is impossible," she whispered.

_Bollocks. We've been in tighter spots than this, and you know it. Get out that medpack and put it to use. _ She pulled the kit from her pocket and unrolled it with clumsily careful fingers. The revitastik came first – she tilted her head back and snapped it just below her nostrils, breathing deeply to inhale the spores. Her eyes and nose began to water almost immediately. _Guess it's working._

Next came the kolto gel and bandage strips. She clenched her teeth together firmly, pulled back her jacket and lifted her shirt. The wound was puckered and painful, but she separated the layers of tissue, squirted some of the thin, sticky gel between them, and pressed the skin together again. She set the tube of gel down, leaning it against the wall with the tip up so that the precious liquid wouldn't ooze out onto the floor, then used that same hand to pull out one of the bandage strips. The packet was sealed to keep the bandage sterile, of course, and difficult to open even with both hands free. _Dammit. Dammit. Dammit._ Vacy bit down on one end, then twisted and yanked, tearing the sterile packet open, hopefully without damaging the bandage. She peeled it open, then carefully lay the soft, kolto-infused cloth across the injured area. After she held it there for a moment, she let go, and it adhered to her skin.

She took care of the shot to her thigh next, then her shoulder. That was a bit trickier – it was harder to see, and she could only use her other hand effectively. But now that she was in a more out-of-the-way location, she could take the time to do things properly. _Or at least as properly as possible without actual med facilities,_ she mused with a sigh.

The field med kits were designed to stabilize an injured person and hopefully keep them mobile. She'd have to ask Skavak and Corso if their boss had a med droid, as she wasn't keen on the idea of forking out any of the credits she was trying to save up, just so that she could get checked out at a healthcare center. And even besides the money, they had a habit of asking awkward questions.

Of course, that was assuming she made it back to the warehouse at all.

But the dizziness was fading, and her limbs didn't feel quite as heavy. She felt the warmth of a familiar chuckle. _You don't need me now, Little Bit. You got this. _As her head cleared, the sensation of her brother's presence seemed to fade.

_No I don't. I can't do this, Bryson! _Fear clutched at her chest and left a sour tang in her mouth. _Why did I even bother trying?_ She leaned against the wall heavily._ I hate myself. I hate my life. I'm hopeless. I'm pathetic. I hate myself. I'm useless. I'm worthless. I hate my life,_ chanted the angry, negative side of her psyche that she thought of as her 'devil-voice.' Most often, it gave her ideas that she knew were the exact opposite of what she ought to do, which made her wonder just how people would react if she actually DID them. Other times, like now, it was just a deep well of self-loathing.

_On the other hand,_ interjected her more practical side, _I'm also _alive,_ and that's… well, it's not nothing, at any rate. _Vacy didn't often find it easy to listen to what she called her 'survivor-voice.' In fairness, most of the time it was telling her to do things that were smart and sensible and not nearly as interesting as the suggestions from her devil-voice. But following its directions had saved her skin more times than she could keep track of.

She tentatively ran a hand over her injuries, then reached into her other pocket, pulled out her flask, and unscrewed it, taking several long, slow sips of the water she kept it filled with. It was tepid, but as bruised and exhausted as she was, Vacy didn't mind a bit. _Right. Time to keep moving._ Taking a breath, she carefully pushed herself up onto her knees, and from there, slowly up onto her feet.

There were voices up ahead, past the end of the hallway. Vacy drew her pistol and edged closer. Staying in the shadow of the hall, she peered through the doorway. There were four people sitting around a conference table – technicians, most likely, given their lack of armor. And as they were out in the open and talking loudly, chances were good they were with the separatists.

Vacy aimed, pulling the trigger into a half-squeeze, and felt the gun warm between her hands. The first group of shots took out one of the techs, and even as the others began to scramble for their weapons, she moved forward and fired again, dropping another one. She kicked one of the chairs over and ducked behind it just as one of the remaining techs fired at her, then stood, and with two quick shots killed them both.

_Damn, that was cold,_ whispered her devil-voice, tightening the knot of guilt in her stomach. _You're really getting good at this murder biz._ She blinked quickly, turning away from the bodies that lay around the table where they'd been joking with each other just moments before, and headed over to the control terminal.

By typing in a few commands, she was able to bypass the main interface. She scanned through the processes, checking their source, and breathed a sigh of relief. There was no outside interference. Pulling out her holocom, she thumbed in a return call to Skavak and Corso as she headed back toward the door. Just then, she hesitated. The separatists still had control of the town, and she had no idea when the Republic troops might be able to run them out. What was to prevent them from just repairing the remotes and overriding the computer again?

_Guess I'll have to take care of this the old-fashioned way,_ she sighed. She fired at the terminal a few times, and while it proved a good bit sturdier than the remote stations had, it eventually fizzled and sparked into silence.

"Captain?" The voice through the comm sounded worried. "Captain, are you all right?"

_Whoops._ She grinned as she nodded to the shimmering blue image. "Sorry 'bout that – Riggs, right? I'm fine. Town's shot up a bit, though; they're gonna have a hell of a time making this place livable again. Still, we shouldn't have any trouble from that cannon."

He let out a sigh. "Well, you'd best get back here quick. Our cam feed shows the seps movin' this way. We think they want the warehouse so's they can use the hangar to bring supplies in. Skavak's checked your cargo in and we're loading up the barge. We'll have you ready to fly by the time you're here, but make it fast. I don't want you to have to fight your way through a passel of seps."

Vacy put one hand on her hip. "Aw, c'mon now. I've done well enough so far! How bad could it be?" she teased.

He tried his best to frown, but she could see his mouth quirking up at the corners. "Hey, now, I know you're a spacer an' all, but ain't any sense in makin' trouble that could've been avoided." Shaking his head, he gave in and chuckled, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "Shoot, I swear there's got to be some kind of contest between all of you t'see who can cut things closest and still scrape through it."

She'd been faking the grin before, projecting a carefree attitude so he wouldn't guess how much she'd struggled. But there was something about his gentle fussing that eased her worry, and she found herself smiling more fully. "All right, all right. I'll be a good girl, I promise. I'll be back there before you know it."

"There's a side entry; you come that way and you should be able to avoid the seps. I'm sending you the coordinates." He looked over his shoulder, then back at the comm's vidfeed. "That way we can close off the main entrance and the hangar door. We lock this place down tight and they won't even be able to blast their way in. But you'll need to get here quick and get out of here – that ship of yours ain't gonna fit inside this warehouse! Speaking of which, this is _not_ the time for napping…" He turned away again, cupping one hand by his mouth. "Skavak, get off that ship an' get over here! We need that hangar door sealed. Skavak? Hey, who are - Skavak, NO!"

The image wavered and blinked out, but before the sound cut off as well, Vacy thought she might have heard the chatter of blaster fire.

She took off at a dead run.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note:<strong> Bryson's cameo in the first half of the chapter is an idea I took from the fight between Inigo Montoya and Count Rugen in _The Princess Bride_. If you like the movie, you should really, REALLY read the book. Then go back and watch the movie again, and you'll notice all these little details that suddenly mean more than you'd realized! The title is also an earlier line from _TPB._

Thanks to the input from my fandom-blind reviewers, I took some more liberties with the dialogue from the game's cutscene. I hope you think it works!

Finally, I wanted to touch on Vacy's "voices." While I can't speak for others with any degree of certainty, I think it's pretty common to have different facets of your psyche. In this case, I've sort of personified them: the devil-voice urges her to do what's spectacularly interesting (and generally destructive). On the other hand, her survivor-voice urges her to do what's practical – though that's not always the same as what's _right,_ as we'll see later.

Reviews earn you happy thoughts and internet cookies. Don't be a stranger! ^.^


	4. Vacy Has a Bad Feeling

**Chapter 4 – Vacy Has a Bad Feeling**

* * *

><p>Vacy kept her eyes on the narrow dirt trail, dodging rocks and gnarled tree roots as she scrambled toward the hangar as fast as she could. Corso's final cry echoed through her mind each time her feet hit the ground. <em>No... no... no...<em> What had he seen? What had he been trying to say before the comm cut out?

Whatever it was, it couldn't have been good.

She vaulted over a low embankment and then up to the side entrance, catching her breath as she keyed in the identicode she'd been given by Viidu. Hopefully it wasn't matched only to the main door. But when she mashed her thumb against the final key in the sequence, there was a beep and a soft click. Vacy tried the handle, and to her relief, the door pulled open.

The sharp tang of blood and blaster gas was faint, but familiar enough that Vacy held the door carefully as it closed rather than letting it slam shut. Pallets of loaded cargo crates blocked her view, but she could hear cheering and raucous laughter somewhere up ahead. While it was possible that the sound came from Corso and Skavak laughing about the prank they'd pulled on her, she crept forward quietly and pulled out her blaster. Just in case.

But the trio clustered in the corner were wearing the same insignia as the half-dozen separatist corpses scattered across the main floor of the warehouse. Skavak and Corso were nowhere to be seen. _Wonder if I could yell out that the Republic army's got 'em surrounded and they should put down their weapons and surrender._ She chewed on her lower lip, thinking through the idea. The possibility of not having to dodge any more blaster fire was alluring. _Then again, if they don't buy it, I've given away my position. And what's to keep them from coming right back inside? Wait – didn't that guy say something about sealin' the hangar door?_

Keeping her blaster close, she edged between the crates and peeked out. Sure enough, the hangar door was still wide open, and there was a control panel beside it. If she could just get the separatists outside and get them to stay there for more than a few seconds...

"Attention separatists!" The high ceiling of the warehouse gave her voice an impressive echo. "This is Lieutenant Branth of the Republic Army. Place your weapons on the floor and exit the warehouse with your hands on top of your heads." She was gratified to see the group start, looking around in confusion. While she didn't know much about military ranks, she figured it'd be a low-ranking officer of some sort making the announcement. An admiral or general or the like would be too important for a mission like this.

One of the seps pushed at another. "Hey, wasn't they sposta be off fixin' that walker? Innat what y'said?" The voice was female, but it carried the same harsh tones Vacy had heard from all of them as they'd been joking and cheering earlier.

The second yanked back and grabbed his rifle. "Yeh, well if they got done early, guess we've got ourselves a few more maggots t'kill, neh? C'mon, boys, let's git 'em!" Flushed with his latest victory, he readied his weapon and headed for the door.

That wouldn't do at all. Vacy took another deep breath. "I repeat: place your weapons on the floor and exit the warehouse with your hands on top of your heads. We have accessed the building's security feed. Anyone who does not comply will be shot as an enemy combatant when our troops enter the building. You have ten seconds."

The third held back, clearly unsure. "Shit, they can see us? An' we ain't even got any idea how many of 'em they are?" He shook his head and put his rifle on the floor. "Hell with this. I ain't goin' up against a whole dam' army."

But as he passed the other two, there was a flash from the second separatist's rifle, and before he had crossed the threshold, his lifeless body dropped to the floor. The second separatist looked back at the first. "You wanna surrender too? Turn y'self over to them what's tryna take our world from us?"

She shook her head slowly, eyes narrowed as she regarded him with suspicion. "No. But I'm not keen on shootin' a friend in the back, neither."

The second separatist spat on the ground. "Y'can't shoot somebody in the back if they're fightin' beside you. And anyone who'd sell us out ain't a friend. You think them Republic troops are just gonna shake his hand and thank him for switchin' sides? No, they're gonna ask him all sorts of questions about who's leadin' our group an' how many people's involved an' what resources we got an' where we meet an' such. I wasn't about to let that happen."

With a sigh, the first separatist looked at the body of their partner. "I s'pose you're right. Well, then..." Her mouth stretched into a wild grin, and she readied her rifle. "I never figured on gettin' old an' ugly anyhow. Let's show them Pubs we mean business!"

Yelling at the top of their lungs, the pair charged through the door of the warehouse and down the path. Vacy dashed over to the control panel and smacked the open/close command. She held her breath for a moment, but with a noisy grinding of gears, the door slid downward. There was an abrupt shout from outside as the separatists realized they'd been tricked and ran back toward the warehouse. But the door was solid, and no amount of fist-pounding or blaster fire seemed to bother it.

She let out a sigh of relief and holstered her pistol as she ran over to the corner where she'd seen them clustered. One of her contacts lay crumpled on the floor there. She dropped to one knee beside him, wondering if it was already too late, but he groaned and shifted a bit.

Lifting his head, he glanced around. "Ugh. Feels like a gundark used my skull as a drum." But when he looked up at her, his expression softened. "Thanks for savin' my hide, Captain."

Hoping her blush wasn't too obvious, Vacy stood and offered him a hand. "Don't mention it, Riggs. You'd've done the same for me, I'm sure."

The gentle way he smiled made his eyes crinkle at the corners. "Well, actually, I hope –"

But whatever he was about to say was cut off by the roar of a very-familiar engine. With a gasp, Vacy whirled and rushed to the hangar bay. _No, no, no... _The _Wonder_ was already mid-takeoff, repulsors lifting it away from the ground, the landing struts tucking neatly into their hatches. She could do nothing but watch helplessly, her hands clenched into fists, as it soared further into the sky and flew away to the west.

Vacy closed her eyes. _This can't be happening._ But when she opened them again, the ship was still gone. Her knees buckled, and if it wasn't for her stubborn pride, she would have dropped to the floor and started crying.

But she wasn't about to do that in front of anyone, let alone a client, so she turned again and trudged back into the warehouse. Corso was patching himself up, fuming. "Skavak's the one who let those separatists in here," he said as she walked up. "He stabbed us in the back!"

_Don't let it show. You're still in control of the situation. This isn't a big deal. You can handle it._ Vacy folded her arms. "Wait. Skavak's a separatist? I thought he was an offworlder, not a local. He some kind of wandering crusader or something?"

Corso shook his head, then winced, lifting a hand to his temple. "Nawh – the only thing he cares about is himself. Figure he's in it for the money. Prob'ly gonna sell those weapons to the seps, then... hey... hang on..." Corso backed up, looking around on the floor, his eyes wide. "That bastard! He took Torchy!"

Vacy thought back, but she couldn't recall anyone by that name; then again, Viidu hadn't exactly sent her a list of all his employees. Still, there hadn't been anyone but Corso and Skavak at the warehouse earlier. She looked at Corso curiously. "Who's Torchy?"

"Torchy's a genuine BlasTech Alt-25 with magnetic adhesion grip and side-mounted rangefinder." The speed with which he rattled off the blaster's specs was impressive – probably driven by his obvious anger. "She's too good for Skavak. An' it ain't like he appreciates her – he just took her outta spite, cuz he knows she's important to me. Rat _bastard!"_

That was a bit unexpected. It took a few moments for Vacy to piece everything together... "Torchy's a gun?"

Eyes snapping with fury, Corso paced back and forth. "Useta brag about what a great thief he was. 'Be glad you don't have anything I want, kid,' he'd say. 'Cause there's nothing you have that I can't steal.' Filthy, lying, smiling..." He looked at Vacy and let out a sigh, deflating. "I guess it seems kinda silly to you. Ain't anywhere near as bad as losin' a whole starship."

_Losing a whole starship_. Vacy felt her eyes begin to burn, and blinked quickly. If a job went badly, Bryson had always been there to pull her close and tell her everything was going to be all right. But this time he wasn't, and she wasn't about to go sniveling to a complete stranger – even a good-looking one. So instead, she nodded firmly and clapped him on the shoulder. "Don't worry about it. We're not going to let him get away with this. I promise."

He stood there a moment, gazing at her, and then cleared his throat and nodded back, just as businesslike. "Thanks, Captain. I appreciate it."

She was now unsettled for a completely different reason than before.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note:<strong> Okay, so one thing I've been working on is the dialogue. Those of you who are familiar with the game - does this still feel comfortable and consistent? or am I taking it too far? Those of you who AREN'T familiar with the game - how does the dialogue in this chapter compare with chapters 1 and 2, where I tried to stick to the original text? Does it feel more natural?

Oh! And also, I snuck a wee bit of setup in. I don't know if it qualifies as foreshadowing, because it's _really_ subtle, but if you're familiar with the end of Act 1, you might be able to spot it...

This chapter took a bit longer to write. I think that's because I got caught up with work - it's the end of the grading period, and so that means making sure everything gets graded, of course, and that everything in the computer is scored correctly and nothing's been left out or placed in the wrong column. I got stuck for a little bit trying to figure out just how the combat was going to go, but once I sorted that out, it moved a lot faster!

I find I can hit my stride best in the morning, before school. If I try to write after school, I'm tired and frustrated and cranky and I just sit there staring at the screen, getting MORE frustrated and cranky!

Readers, what about you? What writing habits work best? What have you tried and found completely unhelpful?


	5. Into the Savrip's Den

**Chapter 5 – Into the Savrip's Den**

* * *

><p>Corso looked out at the now-empty landing platform, and sighed. "Look. Skavak and I were working for Viidu Beretton, the one your contract was with. When he finds out Skavak's pinched that shipment and took it to the separatists, he'll want revenge same as you." At Vacy's half-snort of disbelief, he shrugged. "I'm serious! It might be a matter of principle with him, rather'n practicality, but I guarantee he'll help get your ship back. He ain't gonna have someone cheat him and just let it go. So do yourself a favor and head on up to Fort Garnik. That's the warehouse where he's at today, and it ain't far."<p>

Vacy stood very still and tried to keep her shoulders relaxed. "Sorry. Did you say _Fort_ Garnik? As in, a place that is probably crawling not only with Republic bureaucrats and such, but actual soldiers with guns?" Her brows pinched together as she considered this. "How exactly does Viidu manage to conduct his sort of business right under their noses? I mean... no." She shook her head incredulously. "There is no way you can convince me that _anyone_ is that good."

"Well..." Corso took a slow breath, fidgeting a bit. "The local government hasn't always been on the up-and-up. The Republic wants to fix that, but with the Seps makin' a ruckus, they're having a bit of trouble, and they aren't too keen on just clearing out the place. So they've gotta work with what they have. And so while they can't officially let weapons shipments like yours through, on account of they might be going to the Separatists, they've learned to be somewhat... flexible... when it comes to getting support from those of us who're sympathetic." He lifted his shoulders uncertainly. "Kind of a big ol' complicated mess, but I s'pose that's kind of how life generally is, right?" he concluded with a wry smile.

_This was supposed to be a friggin' milk run._ Vacy rubbed one finger back and forth over the bridge of her nose, trying to ease the tension that had begun to pulse throughout her entire skull. "Yeah," she said, sighing. "One big old complicated mess." She shook her head again and then shrugged. "All right. Guess I'm heading to Fort Garnik, then."

"Don't worry too much." Riggs offered a confident smile. "Viidu's a smart guy, an' he's got connections all over. If anybody can help you get your ship back, it's him. I gotta lock down this hangar, but I'll send Viidu a holo and tell him what's up, let him know you're heading up that way." He lifted a hand in farewell as Vacy nodded and turned to go. "I'll see you and Viidu there soon, Captain."

* * *

><p>With each step, Vacy's feet sank nearly an inch into the soft, fine earth between the clumps of tall grass that dotted the pathway up to Fort Garnik. Her passage left deep bootprints, but they were soon obscured by the near-constant breeze that swirled the particles of dirt into new patterns. She rounded a bend in the path and was abruptly blinded by something that gleamed at the top of the hill. When she ducked her head, the glare lessened, and she lifted her hand to shield her eyes and squint to see what it was.<p>

The recently-poured permacrete that formed the high walls of Fort Garnik shimmered as though it had been polished. The tiny fragments of silica in the compound tended to float to the surface as the mixture hardened. They left a silvery shine that was near-irresistible to younglings, even _alley rats what should've known better'n to mess around where y'don't belong!_ Vacy chuckled a bit, remembering the worker who'd fussed at her when she was a youngling. Fortunately she'd already been a pro at making her eyes big and sad, and within minutes he'd had her on his knee, explaining how the metal supported the structure and the finish added an extra layer of protection. The patina would last perhaps a year, until the smooth outer layer was either worn away by wind and grit, or covered by dust or muck.

As she trudged toward the fort, dirt swirling around her boots once more, she revised her earlier calculation – the shine to its walls wouldn't last more than a few months here on Mantell.

She could see a small crowd gathered ahead, and as she approached, it became clear that they were arguing with the guard at the entrance to the fort. Something about 'refugee status' and filling out the appropriate documentation. _Ah, bureaucracy_. Vacy shook her head with a sigh as she nudged her way through the crowd. Fortunately, nobody seemed inclined to be annoyed with her for doing so – perhaps hoping that a new face might have more luck with the guard.

"Ma'am? I'm sorry, this is a military base and is off-limits to unauthorized civilians." The uniformed guard was polite but disinterested, glancing at her only briefly before giving the same response she'd obviously offered to the others who'd come from Drelliad Village.

"Captain Vacy Fiorst, to see Viidu Beretton. I should be expected?" It had been some months since she'd last been this close to a lawman – well – law-woman, in this case, and never by choice. Her less-than-pleasant experiences with the combination of uniforms and guns tended to make her nervous, and she hoped that it didn't show. She kept her posture relaxed, aiming for 'bored', and she couldn't hear any tremor in her voice – plus the guard didn't seem to be particularly suspicious.

The guard sort of grunted, checking files on the datapad she carried. A few moments later, she nodded slowly, looked up at Vacy again, then back to the datapad with another nod that was more certain. "All right. Seems to be in order. Place your hand here," she said, holding the pad out to the spacer, "and it'll give you a temporary basic authorization to the area. There's signs posted for where you're allowed to go. Mr. Beretton's warehouse is in the eastern part of the fort. Take the main road in and go left at the first major intersection. The building will be on your right." She smiled, not unpleasantly, and stepped aside to let Vacy pass. "Welcome to Fort Garnik."

A thin layer of gravel and dirt coated the duracrete pavement, crunching under her heels as she walked along the wide corridor. At its end, there was a turn that switched back on itself, leading toward another gate, this one more heavily guarded. _Great. More bucketheads. Well, don't sweat it – head up, shoulders back, pace brisk but not rushed. You're_ supposed_ to be here, remember._

One of them nodded a brusque greeting. "Can I help you, ma'am?"

_Calm. Casual._ Vacy shifted her weight to one side and looked the troopers over thoughtfully. Here in the fort, rather than out on assignment, they wore standard-issue uniforms instead of the full-body armor designed to withstand blaster fire. As she considered the way the simple cloth accentuated their well-toned physiques, she decided she definitely preferred this look. _Probably some sort of junior officers_, she guessed, noting the minor but distinct markings along the sleeves that were different between three of them.

"Hello there, fellows." She let her mouth pull into an easy grin. "I'm s'posed to meet a Mister Viidu Beretton?"

They waved her through and echoed the directions given by the previous guard. One of the taller men added that if she got to the cantina, she'd missed her turn.

Vacy felt her grin broaden and knew her eyes were twinkling. "Cantina? Well that sounds right nice." She looked up through her lashes at the guard who'd mentioned it. "Don't suppose one of you fine gentlemen would be willing to join me there for a drink?"

He cleared his throat, his deep skin darkening further, and shook his head despite a smile. "We're on duty, ma'am, but maybe some other time."

She winked and sauntered past them. "I'll hold you to it, then!" she called back. _Dang, life is just so much easier when folks let you do what you need instead of hassling you about it._

Just inside the second gate, a group of soldiers was lifting an E-WEB into the bay of a transport. A small crowd nearby, fully armored, stood attentive to an officer in front of them giving some sort of directions.

Not one of them gave her a second glance.

The warehouse for Rendia Freight was clearly visible by the time Vacy reached the main intersection of the fort. Its darker grey exterior marked it as having been part of Garnik Village prior to the town's transition to a Republic base. The contrast between civilian and military was clearly evident all around, even more among the people than in the structures. The soldiers were alert and focused, while the locals kept their heads down, their posture showing worry mixed with resignation.

Vacy shivered, shook her head, and walked up to the door of the warehouse. _And here I am again, messing about where I don't belong. _She took a deep breath. _Confident. Angry. Remember, it's _his_ guy that stole your ship. Keep him on the defensive. _Pulling her shoulders down and back, she yanked the door open and stepped inside.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note:<strong> So based on some of the feedback I've gotten in earlier chapters, I tried to include more descriptive detail about the setting in this one. The challenge, of course, is getting it to flow _with_ the narrative rather than interrupting it and breaking that flow.

Another challenge is that since this is an MMO, there are templates used for the maps and structures. This leads to a sameness to a lot of the buildings and prop items, and probably the natural environment as well, though IMO it's not as noticeable there (except caves and tunnels – I can tell those are template as well).

But the thing is, I don't want all my towns to feel the same. So I had to think about what I felt Fort Garnik should "really" be like, what would make it unique, and how I could convey that to the reader. And yet I have to do that through the eyes of someone who hasn't seen the changes it's gone through and who isn't spending a lot of time observing it or thinking about it! So it was pretty tough.

The challenge, though, is part of what makes it all worthwhile. :)

Special thanks to Sera Ash for giving me some pointers, and to Nerica, who is helpful in so many ways that I don't know where to begin! And of course, thanks to all of you for continuing to read!


	6. Never Say 'It Can't Get Any Worse'

**Chapter 6 – Never Say "It Can't Get Any Worse"**

* * *

><p>The office of Rendia Freight was functional, if sparse. Half a dozen duraplas chairs with padded seats were lined up against the adjacent wall, facing the receptionist's station, which was sectioned off by a large, blocky desk set up to monitor a smaller door on the opposite wall. It seemed designed to contrast with the receptionist herself, whose small, well-curved figure was the essence of femininity.<p>

She sat up a bit straighter when Vacy marched in. "Hello," she said, her voice low and warm. "Can I help you?"

The spacer found it hard to cling to her manufactured anger when faced with someone who hadn't had a thing to do with its cause. But business was business – she needed the money, and going soft now wasn't going to make that happen. Vacy carefully molded her face into reigned-in impatience. "I'm here to see Viidu," she replied, forgoing any pleasantries. "It's about a shipment of blasters. He should be expecting me."

The receptionist's eyes widened. "Oh! You must be the Captain. Of course," she responded immediately. Sliding her chair back, she headed toward the small door, hips swaying with each step. "He's back in his private office. Follow me?"

Jealousy wasn't something that Vacy often experienced; among the denizens of the back alleys of Nar Shaddaa, a pretty face could be a liability as often as it was an asset. Her own looks were passable — good enough that she hadn't been mocked for them more than the usual, but not so much as to attract unwanted attention. When she'd been about ten, a speeder accident had ripped the right side of her face open from forehead to cheekbone. There hadn't been money for expensive reconstructive surgery, but she thought the scar looked interesting anyway, though she hadn't said as much to Bryson at the time. He'd thrown a fit, of course, calling her behavior reckless and irresponsible (as if he was any better!) and told her she was lucky not to have lost her eye. That much, at least, was true. For the most part, though, she enjoyed looking like a pint-sized badass and sassing her way out of trouble — usually.

It was only on those rare occasions when she encountered someone like this receptionist that she looked down at her own chest and wondered if maybe a bit of padding would help to fill things out somewhat. Or if she should do something with her hair, or put some color on her face. Most women did, after all, but she'd always been worried she'd come out looking like something out of a horror flick. She knew that you put red on the mouth, but the one time she'd ducked into a corner market to pinch some lip color to try out, she'd frozen up completely when she saw all of the different kinds. Who ever knew there were that many different types of red — and some of them weren't even red (which she thought was completely unfair).

The dark-haired young woman opened the door and stepped through, then held it for Vacy, who recovered herself quickly and followed along. When they started across the main floor of the warehouse there was an almost immediate chorus of whistles and hoots, and as they kept walking past the workers, it only continued.

"SYREENA!" hollered one of the guys, leaning back and cupping a hand around his mouth. "Get over here, girl, I got something to unpack for you!"

Vacy saw the woman's posture tense slightly, but she simply ducked her head a little and picked up the pace almost imperceptibly. Vacy lengthened her stride to keep up without appearing to move any faster. "They always this bad?" she murmured.

The receptionist — Syreena, apparently — gave a slight cough that might have been meant for a chuckle. "Depends on the day," she said with a slight lift of one shoulder. She let out a long, tired sigh. "A lot of people who pass through think that because Mantell's a Core world, it's got to be a place of culture and influence and power, but…" She shook her head, leading Vacy up a staircase. "It used to be important, something to do with being along a well-traveled hyperspace route, but I kind of didn't pay attention that much in school. It's ancient history, anyway. The galaxy moved on and left us behind."

They stopped just outside an office, and Vacy looked at the young human thoughtfully. "You ever considered moving on yourself?"

Syreena winked at Vacy as she pressed the comm button beside the door. "Hey sugar," she breathed, her voice dropping half an octave into the territory of unspoken promises. "Are you decent?"

There was the crackle of static, then a man's voice through the speaker. "Syreena? I — uh — well, yes, why?"

The receptionist let out a luscious chuckle. "The captain you said about is here to see you."

"Oh! Oh, of course, of course." The door swished open, and Vacy saw a large man with dark hair and a bushy mustache ambling toward them. "Good to meet you. Come on in." He smirked at Syreena, shaking his head. "You, my dear, are a little minx. Say, since you're here, will you brew another pot of caf? You know how I like it."

"Coming right up!" Syreena gave a tight smile and headed across the room, and Vacy followed Viidu over to the large conference table.

He let out a long sigh as he settled his bulk into the well-padded chair at the end, gesturing to the one next to it for Vacy. "Thanks for coming by, Captain Fiorst. Corso said it's been something of a rough day."

Vacy dropped into the seat and stretched her legs out. "That's about the understatement of the decade," she grouched.

Viidu's smile was tentative, and he glanced over his shoulder at Syreena before looking back to Vacy. "Well, how about a drink to wash away our worries? I keep a Voss blend on hand that's particularly good — have you ever been to Voss? well, either way, you should have a cup. I don't share it with just anybody, but you seem like a woman of taste."

_Excellent. He's trying to make nice. Let's see where this goes. _She folded her arms across her chest. "No offense, Mr. Beretton, but I hope you'll understand if my priorities are elsewhere."

"Of course, of course. We'll get everything sorted out. And, uh, call me Viidu, will you?" Syreena returned with two mugs, setting one in front of each of them. "Thanks, sweetheart. You're the best." He lifted his mug and took a long, slow sip, then let out a contented sigh. "That's the stuff." Setting it down, he looked over at Vacy. "You tried yours? What do you think?"

She took a careful sip, enough to be polite. The hot beverage was sharp against her lips and tongue, the brew strong and earthy. Vacy looked up at Syreena and nudged the chair next to her out a bit with her foot. "Grab a seat. You're not having any?" The girl shook her head as she eased into the chair, and Vacy looked back to Viidu. "It's all right. Never been much of one for caf, but as far as it goes, it's good."

Viidu sighed and put a thick hand to his chest. "You wound me, Captain, you wound me. Ah well." He lifted his mug and took another long swig. "Here's a toast to my favorite things: the best collection of fine paintings in the system, and exotic beverages from across the galaxy." He set the mug down gently, his shoulders drooping heavily. "If only the separatists weren't so damned intent on destroying it all. Between them and that backstabbing Sithspawn Skavak… Hate to say it, but we're in a bad spot."

Syreena leaned forward, tucking a lock of hair behind one ear. "But … it's just one shipment. It can't be that bad." Her forehead wrinkled with concern and she looked between Viidu and Vacy uncertainly.

One brow arching, Vacy looked back at Viidu for an explanation, wondering if he might also elaborate on his use of 'we' in that sentence.

Viidu smiled kind of sadly as he looked at Syreena. "The blasters that Skavak stole in her ship belonged to an underworld boss named Rogun the Butcher. As clients go… he's not the most forgiving. He's known for not leaving survivors. He's killed enough people to fill a convoy of bulk freighters." Viidu shook his head, letting out a sigh. "I'm sorry, my dear. I didn't want you to have to worry about this sort of thing —"

"This _sort of thing?_" Syreena burst out. "Just how often do you do business with thugs and killers? I don't want to have to spend the rest of my life looking over my shoulder, thinking I'm going to be murdered in my sleep!"

Her sudden rant caught Viidu by surprise, and Vacy used his hesitation to jump in. "The best way to take care of this is to get that shipment of blasters back before your client even knows they were stolen. That means tracking down Skavak." _And, of course, getting my ship back._ Vacy didn't think of herself as pessimistic, but it was an undeniable fact that most folks tended to consider their own interests first. So if you wanted something from somebody, you had to present it in such a way that showed how it would benefit them as well.

Fortunately, Viidu picked right up on that trail. "And I've got an idea of where to start looking for him. There's a guy I know who's an expert on the separatists — or as close to it as anyone who isn't on the inside."

Vacy tried not to let her frustration show. _Why can't things ever go smooth?_ She knew there wasn't any use in being upset, but it was looking more and more like getting the ship back was going to require doing work for people who weren't liable to pay for it.

But at least it was a start.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note: <strong>So here Vacy meets Syreena and Viidu for the first time. I thought about pulling in the later scene, in which Syreena gets cornered by one of the workers, but it felt like that would be something more likely to happen when she was alone. Walking through the warehouse with Vacy, she's not exactly protected, but she's less of a target than she otherwise would be.

I also tried to touch on the relationship between Viidu and Syreena without describing it directly. It's always a bit touchy doing that, though, because it's enough to make _me_ see it… but then I already thought it up! So while I want to be subtle with the cues that I give, it's hard for me to know if I'm being _too_ subtle.

Let me know what you think!


	7. Harlequinade

**Chapter 7 – Harlequinade**

* * *

><p>There were heavy footsteps coming up the staircase, and Vacy looked over her shoulder as she pondered Viidu's suggestion. Corso walked up to the doorway and hesitated, then came in when the big man nodded. Vacy turned back again, frowning a bit. "How do you know your contact isn't actually one of the separatists?"<p>

Corso pulled out a chair on the other side of Viidu, across from Vacy, as the older man shook his head and replied. "He hasn't had contact with any of them in weeks. Used to live down on Mannett Point, and that was the first town they took on the island. Been moving inland ever since. Reki noticed that the situation was getting hot, and he's always been good at finding things out. He gathered what information he could and then left town before anyone found out. He's been helping the Republic troops that are occupying Talloran Village."

With a snort of derision, the dreadlocked merc folded his arms across his chest. "Helping? More like squeezin' creds out of 'em." He scowled. "Man's an opportunistic bastard." His eyes widened suddenly and he cleared his throat, his face reddening a bit. "My apologies, ladies, that was … inappropriate."

Vacy bit back a smile, noticing that Syreena rolled her eyes. "So he'll know where we can find Skavak?"

"I'd stake my life on it." Viidu sighed, rubbing at his forehead, and drained the rest of the caf from his mug. "Guess I kind of have staked my life on it," he added with a humorless chuckle. "I'm friendly with the Republic commander over at Talloran, so I'll send a message letting them know you're on your way. That should be enough to get you their cooperation. As for Reki…" He grunted a bit as he lifted out of the chair, which creaked in relief, and shuffled over to a cabinet. "Here… this… and some of these… Syreena, honey, will you get me a crate? Just a small one."

Syreena smiled thinly and strode from the room as Viidu returned to the table with an armload of bottles and boxes. "Reki shares my appreciation for the finer things in life. First check in with the troops guarding the village. Then take this to Reki, and he'll tell you a way to find Skavak." He pulled at his mustache for a moment. "But, um… you might not want to wave it around too much. With the blockade on, it's not easy to get ahold of luxury items. Folks may get… uncooperative… if they know you have something that's not intended for them."

Corso let out a sharp breath, leaning forward. "Beyond that, the area between here and Talloran's likely to have patches of seps. You'll need to stay alert. Fortunately, any you take out will help prove your loyalty to the officers in charge of the village. Guess that's a good thing." He peered at Vacy almost suspiciously. "Have you got them injuries more'n patched up yet? Boss, you got a med droid, right? Way you're talkin' it sounds like we need to make da—" Corso hesitated only a moment before recovering, red-faced again, "— dadgum certain she gets through safely."

Her protests only made the young man more insistent, just as she'd hoped. Vacy was secretly glad she'd read him right. She had no problem admitting to herself that she was a coward ("better a live turkey than a dead duck," she used to chide her brother) but having that sort of reputation was bad for business. Cautious, sure; craven, no way. She didn't actually want to talk them out of it, though, and so she watched their expressions carefully as she mocked them for fussing over her like a pair of grandmothers.

Syreena walked back in with a duraplas tote under one arm and its lid in her other hand, just as Vacy rolled her eyes and 'gave in,' promising to let Viidu have his droid give her a thorough physical. She set them down beside him and sat down next to Vacy again, curiosity sparkling in her dark eyes. "Do you have a problem with needles? It's okay if you do — it does kind of pinch a bit. But it's not bad, honest."

"What? No!" Vacy glared at her, hoping that the well-intentioned encouragement hadn't completely undone the work she'd put into developing her brash persona. She pushed her chair back and stood up. "But I'm ready to go out and take back what was stolen. I'm not used to bein' doted on."

Syreena's gentle smile broadened. "It's not doting," she said, her tone warm. "It's looking out for each other. You're part of a team now, Captain. We've got your back."

Vacy could feel a sudden panic rising up inside her and forced herself to keep her expression neutral. We're not a team. I don't know you, and you don't know me. You're not my team. The thought of pledging loyalty to someone else, however temporary, made her innards start to tighten and twist, like she was betraying her brother all over again. But as she looked from Syreena to Viidu to Corso, she saw… well, nothing so mushy as encouragement… but acceptance.

Corso smiled as well when she looked at him, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "Nobody's sayin' you can't get things done on your own," he added. "Just… that you don't have to."

For once, Vacy found herself unable to say anything. Not that it lasted, of course. A moment later, her mouth curled up in a smirk and she shook her head. "I've gotten used to solo jobs," she said, glancing around at the others without meeting anyone's gaze. "But…" She chewed on her lower lip as she thought. "Doesn't mean that's how it always has to be."

Viidu chuckled as he stood. "Riggs, help Syreena box that up while I take the Captain down for her physical." He reached over and thumped her on the shoulder with his meaty hand. "Welcome to Rendia Freight."

And Vacy didn't know quite how it happened, but for some reason, she felt her smirk easing into something that might have been a smile.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note:<strong> Yay! I actually finished something! I can't tell you how good that feels. On the other hand, it's given me plotbunnies for at least two more stories… *sigh*

For those of you who are "in the know," PLEASE avoid leaving any spoilers in the comments!

Oh, almost forgot: a Harlequinade is a type of drama that spun out of the commedia dell'arte. What's interesting about it is that while it keeps to certain archetypes, there are an infinite number of subtle variations in the story that's told. It came to mind as a title indirectly; my first thought was some kind of riff on "motley crew," indicating that Vacy had become part of the team. "Motley" is also the word for the variegated costume often worn by jesters, which made me think of Harlequin. And of course, Harlequin is something of a scoundrel, so I immediately started seeing parallels! So here's the "revised cast list," hopefully without giving too much away:

Vacy Fiorst as Harlequin, the clever, plucky mischief-maker and romantic lead.  
>Corso Riggs as Columbine, the sensible, soft-hearted love interest who sometimes plays hard to get.<br>Skavak as Clown, the troublemaker.  
>Viidu Beretton as Pantaloon, the greedy merchant that the others work for.<br>Syreena Sanphroix as Pierrot, the idealistic dreamer disappointed by reality.


End file.
